Life sure is strange. We have managed to move within the last 3 months (tbh, it was last week. )and we now live in a beautiful 3rd floor walk-up. 2 full bedrooms, 2 full bathrooms, and guess what? Mama got her soak tub. Wine and tubbing all day long, people. We have been through 4 month vaccinations and 4 month sleep regression. We gave up and ended up bed-sharing. He goes to bed first through the extinction method and then Richard and I go to sleep when we are ready. To be honest, we all sleep better for it, so I am happy with my decision to bed share. Not to mention, I have woken up–to probably just periods of apnea–and shook Yves awake because he didn’t seem to be breathing. I thank bed-sharing for being able to react quickly.

This kid loves lights, he has always loved lights. Seeing all the Christmas decor made him lose his damn mind.

Once again, I am doing my rainbow tree. I swear, next year I will pick a different scheme. We did get rainbow icicles to match though….

No more eating on the couch! We have a dining room again! We haven’t had dining space since we left our first shitty apartment. This is a super welcome improvement. Though, I hate that it’s carpet. I’m going to end up putting one of those desk mats under the table because food + carpet = disgrossting.

I vaccinate. I will always vaccinate. A couple of reasons: 1) An autistic child is not a DEAD child. 2) My son having Autism is not the end of the world [ we have no reason to suspect he has autism anyways] 3) There is ZERO evidence of vaccines causing autism. The benefits far, FAR outweighs the unfounded, and unproven risks. This is not up for debate with me or mine.

After running what must have been a thousand errands after I got off work yesterday, I decided to take Yves to public health to get his first set of vaccines done. I was pretty nervous about it, not because I’m afraid of what they’ll do to him, but because I know the needles hurtand I was afraid of the aftermath of his crying. It makes me feel guilty, a little bit. Aaahh, it’s for your benefit, Yves. I swear.

You can see the instant he recognizes that maybe his leg is being stabbed. The face I’m making is a face of “LOL, this is for helping but I’m sorry it’s hurting, please don’t hate me.”

His little panicky cries broke my heart but he did so well! Hell, I did really well because I wanted so desperately to cry with him but if I made a big deal about it instead of working to comfort him, he’d probably end up associating it as a dangerous situation to be in. When it’s not.

He had zero reactions, although he was a little hard to calm down at first. I had to drive home with my hand behind me petting his cheek because he couldn’t soothe unless I had contact with him. Yves got lots of cuddles, a massage and a warm nursing-bath (we nursed while bathing) before going to sleep. He seems to feel much better and was even in a smiling mood before falling asleep!

A very beloved friend of mine and I had been talking about buying myself a gift. [We will call her C] I had been hemming and hawing about the purchase for a little while and kept reasoning that there was no justification in my buying it, despite deserving to treat myself.(Which I had not done with this particular hobby in 2 years to the day!)

She brought up an article that discussed “Imposter Syndrome” and it explained that this condition is where one who steps into a new role–typically a new parent–who despite receiving social praise on how well they are doing in their new role, feel fake and as though they’re, well, an imposter.

This fit how I had been feeling for some time, now. Like, I wasn’t who I really said I was. (A new mom) By buying such a lavish gift for myself, I was taking food or diapers from my child and “real moms” didn’t do these things and I must be an awful, selfish mother. Of course, I wasn’t really taking anything from my son. This was money that had been set aside for me to do as I wanted. So, why was I feeling like this? The sense of having to sacrifice for my child was so intense even though there was no need to. She pointed out that I tend to be an overachiever, which agitates these feelings.

C then asked me how I differentiate between Mom (me) and Sara (me). Why don’t I deserve to buy things for myself? When do these two facets of person meet and where do they separate? I ended up thinking about it so hard that more than an hour had gone by and I couldn’t come up with anything. I had never thought about it before. I had no idea! At first, I had simply answered that I didn’t know. It felt like it didn’t really apply to me.

In that time, I made my purchase, having finally, straightened myself up and going forward. (I still felt guilty after buying it.) I thought off and on about my answer for C and didn’t bring it up again until a few nights later when I thought I had a good response. [This blog post]

Sara is Sara and Mom is Mom. Sara is Mom and Mom is Sara. This means that no matter how I try to break it apart, these two people are really the same. The difference between the two is that while I am obligated to my son, I have to remember that: the rest of my time? The rest of me? It’s still obligated to me, to be able to do the things I enjoy, to buy things that I want or need. That I deserve to be able to do things that bring on the oxytocin. Mom isn’t necessarily a different person at all, but I do have to recognize that when it’s time to be mommy; it’s time to be mommy. When it’s just me alone and free during down time or while I’m at work? I’m allowed to be Sara. Mommy can sit on the back burner since she isn’t needed. I’m allowed to provide for myself the care and love I would otherwise provide for my son when it’s time to be Mommy again; I’m good enough for him, so I am good enough for me.